Addiction
by Sacharissa Donerail
Summary: Draco has an addiction--but to what, or whom, is something of a suprise. Written approximately three years ago, before publication of HBP
1. Drag

Title: Drag (Part 1 of Addiction)

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: T/T+

Content: adult language, implied m/m,

Pairing: DM/HP

Disclaimer: None of these characters, places, etc. belong to me. I claim no ownership to the characters. No profit is being made off this story.

Summary: Draco and Harry. Complicated? Yes.

I can't really remember when I started.

One day, I just picked it up, and I haven't been able to stop since. It's the sort of thing most never expected someone like me to do--no, not me the pride of the Malfoy family. He's too clean, too polished, too unlike the rest of the common world in which he must suffer. That's what I was born for anyway.

I'm the example of the perfection that one can achieve when one tries hard enough.

I don't have any siblings because they might have compromised the success my father has had with me. He couldn't afford mistakes. My mother is so bloody in love with having a child--something to call her own--that she doesn't care about much else. She keeps me well-dressed and my pocket well padded with spending money, and I love her dearly. She is such a soft, gentle creature.

How she could marry a man like my father, I will never know.

I don't know if he's ever had an ounce of paternal instinct in him. He allowed my mother to conceive me because he need an heir and a trophy, but ask for any more than that, and you'll be disappointed. I've never asked him for anything.

I think it's that supposed perfection that makes me do it. Addiction is a muggle weakness, and if my parents knew I was doing anything remotely muggle-like, they would be very displeased.

It's amazing that something as meaningless as smoking cigarettes could mean so much trouble for me.

It's Severus' fault really. He is the one who taught me. I caught him in the dungeons after class one day, puffing away like he was sucking air. Poor guy. He really wasn't meant for teaching. The stress is too much for him. Being a Death Eater, no problem. Handling a bunch of kids and grading papers, and we're talking core melt-down. Go figure.

But I like Severus, and he likes me. He's rather stuff, and he's got a bloody strange sense of humor, but he's been there for me more times than I can count. When I was younger, I thought it was one of those teacher/student crushes, but now I know that he an I have something in common that bonds us together--we've both been neglected by Lucius Malfoy.

Severus doesn't like that I'm a smoker. "It's going to yellow your teeth," he grumbles, even as he lights up his own. He really is such a dear. It's a shame he can't show that to more people.

So, I sit up here in the Astronomy tower, home to many a midnight fumbling by the strangest pairings of students you can imagine, and I smoke. I usually sit on the roof to avoid embarrassing my hormone-fueled classmates, blowing the smoke up toward the blue-black sky and watching it dissipate almost immediately. I let my legs dangle over the edge and lay against the rough surface, barely noticing the way it digs into my back. The smoke burns my throat and my lungs, but I savor it. I only smoke mentholated cigarettes because I like the touch of cool just before the burn.

It's nice up here--me, my cigarettes, and the stars. It's my alone time. I'm away from the rest of the Slytherins, all of them scrambling desperately for my approval. I'm free of that insufferable mudblood, Granger, and her little lost puppy, Weasley.

As I inhale and hold the smoke for a few moments, I find, however, that this night shall not be Potter-free. Midnight broom ride, eh, Potter? Quite the rule breaker.

There's a little something most people don't know about Potter and myself. We don't especially hate each other. Everything about who we are says we should. He's a Gryffindor, I'm a Slytherin. I'm rich, he's poor. His family fought the Dark Lord, my family worships him. I should hate him, but I don't. I torment Granger because she is unfortunate enough to have muggle parents, and Weasley because he's poor and pathetic, but I don't hate them. Hatred is a pretty wasteful emotion.

Potter and I...there's some sort of understanding between us. In public, we carry on because it's what we're expected to do. When no one else is around, we tolerate each other. I think he's got a crush on me. Isn't that cute? I guess I slightly fancy him in that moth to the fire way. Heaven knows I've never fancied girls.

Except Pansy Parkinson that one time after the Yule Ball, but that's another story.

I sit and watch Potter zoom around on that broom he takes so much pride in, and I have to admit to myself that he flies remarkably well. It doesn't look forced or like any sort of hardship on him. He's a natural. That's when he notices me noticing him, and his smile shines through the moonlight speckled darkness as he flies over ad lands delicately beside me.

"You really should be more careful, Potter," I say as he makes himself comfortable and sits down beside me. "The wrong person might see you gallivanting about and get you into trouble."

"Sod off, Malfoy," he replies with a crooked grin. "If you were going to tell on me, you would have done it by now."

He's right. And I have told, but when I told Severus, he grumbled and mashed his cigarette out while already lighting another. "Oh, let the git have some fun, Draco. He _is_ going to be our savior, you know. He deserves it."

Harry Potter has never been the savior of anything, if you ask me.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Composing a symphony," I answer. "You're sitting on my sheet music."

He rolls his eyes. "Do you ever stop being a smart ass?"

"You should know the answer to that by now," I reply, flicking the column of ashes off my cigarette. A few stray ones land on his thigh, small white flecks on his worn blue jeans. He brushes them off with an annoyed puff of air through his lips. "You're going to get caught one of these days."

"So are you." Dammit, Potter, can't you just let me enjoy my one solitary moment of joy?

"If I go down, I'm taking you with me," I say after a moment of silence.

"Likewise," he answers. "Though I'm sure Snape will bail you out and leave me to hang."

"Probably." He doesn't realize that Severus doesn't hate him either. He's just unwillingly bound to some stupid idea that he has to pay James Potter back for saving his life almost twenty years ago. Severus has a hard time forgetting the past.

"Slytherins stick together and all that," he mumbles. He says something else, but he turns his head away so I can't hear him.

"You Gryffindors aren't any better," I say, flicking my cigarette away. It lands far below us with a tiny fountain of sparks.

"It's what we do," he answers. "Part of our charm."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, yes, charm is practically oozing out of your ears."

"Seems to work on you."

I don't voice a comeback because I'm not quite sure what to say. He's taken me off guard, which doesn't happen very often. He gives me this stupid little grin, which is just a touch too victorious for my liking.

"Well, goodnight, Potter," I finally say. "You'd better get inside before you catch cold, seeing as you don't have anyone to warm you up."

The corner of his mouth goes up in a half smile. "You don't have anyone either, as I can recall."

"Yeah," I answer bitterly. "But I could if I wanted."

Then I lean over and press my lips against his. They're warm and soft and very nice, but I don't linger. I pull back and flash him a toothy grin, his dumb-founded look staring back at me. "Night."

It's only when I'm almost across the courtyard that I hear the soft 'whoosh' as he takes off again, and I realize that I left my cigarettes on the room.

I'll get them tomorrow night.


	2. Slow Burning

Title: Slow Burning

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: T/T+

Content: adult language, implied m/m

Pairing: DM/HP

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, related characters, and/or places. I make no profit off this story.

Summary: Draco and Harry. Complicated? Yes. Part 2 of Addiction. Written approximately 3 years ago, before the publication of HBP.

All the muggle scientific journals say that girls mature more quickly than boys. Okay, that's obvious. Bathroom humor is funny to boys for a lot longer than it is to girls. But what about maturity when you're comparing boys to boys? I think it's safe to say that some of us--those with psychotically overbearing father figures--mature very quickly while others--those with no real father figures to speak of--mature more slowly. But what is maturity really?

Maturity is the day you wake up and realize three things: 1) the world is a shitty place sometimes, 2) no one is going to help you deal with said shitty world, and 3) you've got a cock and suddenly have a maddening urge to stick it anywhere it will fit.

It's been a week since I gave Potter a goodnight kiss, and now he's acting...weird. No one would notice it but me because its only around me that his behavior is different. Now, when Severus pairs us together in Potions, he groans loud enough for Granger and Weasley to hear, but then seems none too upset when he's sitting beside me. His voice is soft and sweet when he speaks to me. He does this cute little half-smile when I try to insult him, and while it's positively adorable, it also makes me want to punch his lights out.

And since when did I start going on about how adorable Harry Potter is?

I try to tell myself I'm just imagining things, but it's impossible to ignore the way his knee brushes against mine while we're working, and yeah, I kind of like it, but come on! Since when did a stupid peck on the roof of the Astronomy tower mean I want to go steady with him?

_Do _I want to go steady with him?

Bloody hell.

He needs to get over himself. I could have anybody I wanted, just like I told him, but I don't want anybody. I'm happy with just me, myself, and I, plus my cigarettes, my broom, and my wand. Severus would probably say my list of essentials reveals too much about my personality because they're long, thin, and slightly phallic in shape.

I told you he has a weird sense of humor. Mid-term is coming up. I think he's up to a pack and a half a day now.

No, Potter is a hassle I just don't need right now. Father is getting anxious about my birthday coming up. Eighteen, the age of passage into the world of the Death Eaters. I used to want to be one, but now...it's gotten too crazy. They do more hiding than anything else, and I don't want to hide. Being loud and proud about anything would be presumptuous in the Dark Lord's eyes, however, and I'd really rather avoid winding up like Potter's parents.

There he is again. Potter. He's fucking everywhere.

Right now, he's beside me, cutting up some damn disgusting slug-like things for yet another healing potion. I like the way he sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating.

No. I _don't._

"Hurry up, Potter," I snap. "We don't have all bloody day."

He rolls his eyes, but quickly finishes and adds them to the purplish mixture already in the cauldron in front of us. It crackles a bit then turns a light shade of green. The same green as Potter's eyes, sort of soft around the edges with little flecks of--

_What am I talking about??_

"Good work, Mr. Malfoy," Severus says from behind us. "And you, Mr. Potter."

The last bit sounded forced. Potter's eyes practically bug out of his head, and he mutters a 'thank you' before Severus goes stalking away, robes fluttering behind him impressively.

I've really got to ask him how he does that.

"So, will I be seeing you on the roof tonight, as usual?" Potter asks as we start to clean up.

I look at him sideways. "Do you want to see me?"

He shrugs a little, trying to come off as nonchalant. "It's not so bad having company up there."

I consider that for a moment. Is that what he means, or is that just what he's saying? "All right, Potter. I'll see you tonight."

He half-smiles. "I'll be there."

Oh, God. Is this a date?

I keep wondering about our pseudo-date for the rest of the day. We've never both agreed to be there, we just were. Now, he's expecting me. My midnight smoke isn't just mine anymore. Then again, his midnight ride isn't just his anymore either. It's a fair trade.

Right?

He's already flying in huge, widening circles by the time I get there at quarter past midnight. I am purposely late to prove that pseudo-date or not, Draco Malfoy shows up when _he_ wants. Nobody chooses that but him! Ooh, Potter is wearing a forest green sweater. Very nice.

Stop it!!

I take my time getting up to the roof, but he doesn't even wait until I'm settled to swoop in and sit down beside me. I find my cigarettes just where I left them and grumble in his general direction when I sit down. He smiles anyway and swings his legs over the edge. "How were your classes today?"

God...small talk. I shrug as I light up a stretch out on my back like usual. "Fine, I guess. You?"

He hitches one shoulder. "Divination's a pain, but it always is."

"Trelawney still predicting your death?" I ask with an exhale of smoke and an internal shudder of pleasure. That first drag is always the best. He nods, and I snort. "You think that would have gotten old by now. It's obvious you're not going to kick off so easily."

"I think she takes some sick pleasure in it," he answers.

I'd like to take some sick pleasure--

Stop. It. Now.

Silence falls between us. Potter looks at me, and I look at anything except Potter until he finally lets out a sigh. "Malfoy...what are we doing?"

What a loaded question. I decide to play it cool. "I'm smoking, and you're sitting."

He makes a frustrated sound. "You know what I mean. Sneaking out to meet each other--"

"We did not meet each other, " I interrupt. "I came out to smoke, and you just happened to be here."

"Draco...you know that's not true."

Who gave him permission to use my first name?

I flick the half-smoked cigarette away and turn to look at him. "Listen, Potter, just because I gave you a quick snog doesn't mean I'm in love with you or what to date you or anything!"

He now looks sufficiently surprised, and I'm rather surprised myself. There I go letting my mouth work before my brain. "Okay...I just wanted to be sure I wasn't getting the wrong idea."

Silence again. This time it's me who breaks it. "Go fly around, Potter. I like it better when you're flying, and I'm watching."

He doesn't say anything and mounts his broom then takes off. His feelings are hurt, and a part of me feels shitty for it, but the part is glad. Now, he knows where we stand.

Where _do_ we stand?

I don't really fancy him all that much. Half the time, I want to punch him--and the other half of the time, I want to kiss him silly. He aggravates me, and he makes me bloody crazy. I hate his friends, especially when they're hugging all over him--

Oh, fuck.

Heaven help me. I think I've fallen for Harry Potter.

That's when he lands beside me, a horrible look of misery on his face. "I'm gonna turn in early. I'm really tired, so I'll--"

"Come here, Potter."

And that's when I lose control of myself. He gets in close to me, and I can smell him and feel the heat of his body against the chill of the night, and it makes my head spin. I'm the one pulling him into my arms, and I'm the one kissing those sweet, soft lips, and I'm the one holding onto him--but it doesn't feel like me. It's like I'm outside myself, watching this gorgeous scene take place.

But even though it's me doing all this, the important thing is that it's _him_ kissing me back.


	3. Constant Craving

Title: Constant Craving

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: M

Content: adult language, m/m

Pairing: DM/HP

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, related characters, and/or places. I make no profit off this story.

Summary: Draco and Harry. Complicated? Yes. Part 3 of Addiction. Started approximately 3 years ago, before the publication of HBP, but finished recently.

NOTE: This chapter has an adults only version that will not be posted, as it is a violation of the TOS. If you would like to read it, please contact me.

Title taken from the song "Constant Craving" by kd Lang.

~*~

It's really amazing how one little event can put things into perspective. An earthquake can hit a town that is virtually unknown, and suddenly, everyone knows its name because thousands are dead. Perspective is a funny thing. It's all in the way you look at the situation.

Like now that I've been inside Harry Potter, I know that no greater joy can exist. Before that, I was convinced that a good wank in the shower was the true feeling of nirvana.

I guess I skipped a bit.

The midnight make out session after I emphatically declared that I was _not_ in love with Harry Potter and did _not_ want to date him, then progressed into a repeat performance the following night and every night since then. Another week had passed. Two weeks ago, I was enjoying a smoke under the moonlight. By then, I was wishing for a shag instead. And I'd get so close to getting it, just moments away from sinking myself balls deep into him--and then he'd get cold feet.

It wasn't just about sex. We'd actually talk and share things before starting our nightly grope-fests. It was nice getting to know each other. I found out a lot of things about Potter that I never would have known otherwise, like how he hates marshmallows and how he wears socks to bed.

I quickly broke him of that habit.

I'm serious--the mushy sweet stuff was very, very nice. I'd never admit it, but my mother has passed her wildly romantic personality on to me. It had to go somewhere. My father doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. So I reveled in Potter's bright-eyed sweetness, all the while playing it totally cool so he'd never know that my insides melt when he runs his fingers through the hairs on the back of my neck. He, on the other hand, is very open and expressive about his feelings for me. He calls me by my first name all the time, and he's even given me a nickname. "Dray," he'll say with one brow lifted when I make an off-handed comment about Granger or Weasley. Or "Draaaaay," in this ear-splitting whine when I tickle him into breathlessness. Or the one I like the most, the breathy, strangled "Drayyyy" when I'm kissing him or have my hand down his pants.

He really is too delicious for words sometimes.

But an entire week had gone by, and I still hadn't gotten what I wanted. A week doesn't seem like that long, but to a hormonal seventeen year old with a perfect opportunity to 'vent' his frustrations, a week might as well be an eternity. And this isn't a tirade about sexual politics, but when you happen to not be of the heterosexual persuasion, sex is a big deal. It's not the only deal, but it's a big one. Males are pre-programmed by nature to sow their oats, and when another man is readily available to sow them with, the urge to plant is irrepressible. That's why gay men are promiscuous and unfaithful--well, not all gay men, but quite a few.

The thought of cheating on Potter, however, has never crossed my mind.

I couldn't really understand why he wouldn't let me take the next step, and that's what bothered me. I thought maybe it was because he was still a virgin and was falling victim to all the natural fears that stem from the idea of having someone be with you in such an intimate way--not to mention it hurts like hell. But Potter had told me during one of our nights of self-disclosure that the Weasley twins had shown him a thing or two, so that wasn't it. I personally couldn't find any other reason for him to be so unwilling to go any further than we had. So leave it to me to be the insensitive git to say something.

There we were, on the roof as usual, Potter's nifty invisibility cloak over us so nobody gets an eyeful who shouldn't--not that I'm ashamed of what genetics has given me, but this show is only for paying customers. Anyway, Potter's on his back, and I'm stretched out on top of him, laying wedged between his surprisingly muscular thighs. His hands are tangled in my hair, which annoyed me at first, but now really gets my motor whirring, and I've got a mouthful of him.

I'm going to pause in the retelling of this lusty scene to say that I am a bloody master in the oral sex department. Don't know how I learned, but whatever I'm doing, I'm doing right. Never left a customer unsatisfied, that's for sure. And Potter...oh, God, he's hot enough while I'm doing it to get me off. He pants and moans and begs for more, and when he comes---well, not to be disgusting, but if I could, I'd bottle it and start a personal stash. For a while, I was just content to blow him, let me pull me off, and then crawl back to bed.

This night, however, I was in no mood to be denied.

So, I'm going my thing, and Potter is doing his, and I'm preparing to finger fuck him into oblivion when I feel that familiar tension spread through him and his hands find my shoulders.

I let his cock slide out of my mouth with a groan. "Dammit, Potter..."

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, a blush flooding his cheeks. "I just...can't..."

"Well, why the bloody hell not?!?" I'm shouting now, not worried if anyone hears me. "I'm not going to fucking hurt you, Potter!"

"I know that-"

"Then what is it!?!"

And he gets this look on his face, this terrified look of such unbridled innocence. "I don't want to do it until I know it's not the only reason you're with me."

Well, color me...whatever color total mortification is.

Could I be more insensitive? I wanted to fling myself off the damn roof. "Oh, Harry...love, of course it's not the only reason. I could bang anybody in this school that I wanted, but I don't want just anybody. I want you." The words sounded so strange coming out of my mouth. I really couldn't believe I was saying them. I didn't think. I just said it.

And that's what made me realize that I was telling the truth--I didn't have to think about it. Sometimes the best things happen when you're not thinking.

Then he smiles at me, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. "You called me Harry. You never call me that."

What an adorable git. "Well, don't get used to it."

He laughs softly, then the uncertain look comes back. "Dray?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can we do it somewhere other than the roof?"

Then I had to laugh.

But that posed an interesting question. If not there, then where? I wasn't about to sneak into his room, and he damn sure wasn't coming to mine. Empty classrooms were too dangerous with Filch and his mangy cat wandering around at all hours. The roof seemed our only option. That's when I remembered something.

Severus.

He was none too happy when I told him of my midnight trysts with Potter. "It's too dangerous." Puff puff. "What if your father finds out?" Puff puff. "I won't be able to get you out of trouble." Puff puff.

One of these days, I'm going to give that man a nervous condition.

So, needless to say, when I knocked on his door, one hand clutching Potter to my side, and asked him if he didn't mind making a sweep of the grounds while Potter and I "borrowed" his rooms, he wasn't pleased.

"Are you out of your mind?!? If anybody found out, I could lose my job! You could be expelled! Find somewhere else!"

Potter looks terrified and ready to run for the hills, but I squeeze his hand tighter and turn on the Malfoy charm. "Please, Severus? If you let us, I'll buy you a whole carton of those mint cigarettes you like so much..."

His eyes widen a bit. Now, understand, Severus isn't hurting for money, but he doesn't trust banks or goblins, so he won't keep his money at Gringott's. During the school year, he doesn't have time to get home very often, so he brings all the money he needs for the term with him. It's too close to Christmas, he can't afford to spend much, and he has an affinity for mint-flavored cigarettes made by Muggles that are rather pricey.

Never let it be said that I don't know how to play people's weaknesses.

"Two cartons," he answers after a moment.

Oh, he's good. "A carton a week for two nights a week," I answer.

"Deal." He takes a moment to pull on his cloak, and he gives us a disdainful look. "You have half an hour. Stay out of my bed, and clean up any _messes_ you make." With that, he was gone.

I look at Potter, who in turn, looks dumbstruck.

"Professor Snape is a smoker, too?!?"

You don't know the half of it, Potter.

Now by this time, I know we're finally going to do it, and we're feet away from the bed, and what does Potter do? He starts looking around. "Wow, I never pictured his room to look like this...this is cool."

Yeah, yeah. No time for small talk, Potter. Let's go. I start walking him toward the bed, and he freezes. "We can't! He said not in his bed!"

Bloody hell. I look around for something, anything to put down on the floor, but there isn't so much as a blanket to spare. "We'll clean up, Potter. He'll never know."

He looks uncertain, and once again, I dig into the bag of tricks, and drop my voice to a light purr. "I don't have long with you. Let's not waste it worrying about getting Severus' panties in a wad."

Potter makes a face. "Don't bring up his underwear when you're trying to shag me."

I laugh, and with a gentle push, he's on his back on Severus' king size bed. I lower myself down against him, and he smiles up at me with a look that made me realize that all the waiting had been worth it.

What happened between us that night is something that I will never forget. I can replay every kiss, every touch, every moan and groan in my head as though it just happened. I can remember the smell of Potter's skin, the way he looked in the flickering firelight, and how he almost cried when the moment came that left us both shaking and exhausted, so much so that we barely pulled ourselves from the bed in time to get out of there before Severus came back. But those things are private, and I won't turn them into the stuff of trashy Muggle romance novels by trying to describe them. I don't think I have the words anyway. It was that good, that memorable, and I knew in that moment that he was looking up at me--his eyes foggy, his skin flushed, his chest heaving and slicked with my sweat and his--that we had moved beyond the level of boyhood crush. I was fairly sure he was smitten with me.

And I was smitten right back.

Clothes askew, hair a mess, and twin looks of giddy excitement on our faces, we walked up the hall, my arm around his waist, passing Severus as h came back down the stairs. He narrowed his eyes at us, but said nothing, sweeping past us in a flurry of robes and left over cigarette smoke. Harry suppressed a giggle, pressing his face against my chest as we hit the stairs, and Severus' voice carried clearly, echoing off the stone walls.

"DAMMIT, DRACO! I TOLD YOU NOT IN MY BED!!"

Oops. Sorry, Severus.


End file.
